The Sun, The Moon, The Stars
by yeahsurekthxbai
Summary: Everyone has their own perceptions of beauty; some find it in the rising sun, some find it in the shining moon and stars in the night sky. Their meeting was chance, perfectly ordinary; and Thorin Oakenshield and Luna Silverstone never realised just how much they would affect each other's lives - a young girl with no background and her King Under the Mountain.
1. Chapter 1

"I didn't order food."

Dark eyes look up at me, his voice deep and his words short. I flush slightly as I hold the tray up, holding it like a shield in front of me, having placed a bowl of warm soup and a platter on the table before him.

"I know, sir. It's just that you always order this every time you come in, and you looked so deep in thought that I thought maybe I should just bring it to you." I can feel my face heating up, turning red, as the dark-haired dwarf, hair slightly streaked with grey, looks up at me. "If you don't want it, sir, I can take it back to the kitchens – "

"No." He cuts me short, shaking his head slightly. "No, I'll eat it. Thank you, Mistress – ?"

"Luna Silverstone, sir."

"Mistress Silverstone." He nods at me, briefly, before turning to his food.

As I hurry away, I hope he doesn't think it's on the house.

I dash around the tavern, carrying more tankards of ale and taking more orders, my eyes flicking towards the dark figure sitting in the corner every so often.

I do not know his name, do not know who he is, but the dark-haired dwarf always comes in alone, always chooses to sit in the corner by himself. He ventures into The Grey Badger maybe once a week, casts glares around until someone finally comes to take his order. Usually, it is always me – Juliet and Jasmine have grown too frightened of his dark glance and gruff voice, and are afraid of the fact that he is a dwarf.

Which is, to me, quite ridiculous, but I choose not to voice my opinion.

Finally, after a few hours, the crowd lessens as the men leave to return to their wives – it is a weekday, after all – and I have just finished clearing a table nearby the dark-haired dwarf when he says, "Sit with me."

I look up, blink and glance around, but there is nobody else except me.

"Yes, Mistress Silverstone, I am speaking to you." He chuckles, just slightly, and I know I am blushing furiously.

"Just a moment, sir."

I hurriedly wash and keep the plates and tankards, before returning to the corner, sitting cautiously on a chair opposite him.

"I want to thank you again," he says, "for the food."

_Please do not think it's on the house. Julian will slaughter me._

I am unable to hide the sigh of relief as he slides the money over, causing him to smile, slightly, beneath his dark beard.

"Have you worked here for very long, Mistress Silverstone?"

"Since I was eleven, sir. Eight years. Started out in the kitchens until I grew old enough to actually help out."

"Eleven?"

There is slight surprise in his voice.

"I've no family, sir. I was brought to Julian when I was eight and he raised me with his children, until he thought I was old enough to start working."

"I am sorry for your loss."

"Everyone loses their family sometime or another, sir. I just happened to lose mine earlier than most."

The truth is, I can hardly remember my parents, my laughing younger brother, my lovely older sisters. I have been part of Julian's family for so long that it is difficult to remember a family before his.

He regards me for a long moment.

"You sound wise, Mistress Silverstone."

"Not wise, sir, just practical." I can feel myself blushing again. "And, sir, please call me Luna. Nobody calls me Mistress Silverstone."

He looks at me, his dark eyes boring into mine, and nods, slowly. "Luna, then. You are to call me Thorin Oakenshield instead of sir."

From his voice, I can tell that he is used to giving orders and having them followed.

I merely shrug, my stubborn pride not letting me agree to his demand straightaway, another side of me reminding me that I'm not allowed to make the clients angry.

His lips twist into the faintest of smiles, and he pushes himself up to his feet.

"Until next time, Luna."

* * *

And so it goes every week.

Every week I see him enter the tavern, see him sit at the same table, bring him the same food and a tankard of ale. Every week, after most of the clients have left, he bids me to sit down with him, and so I do, talking and talking until he has to leave.

Julian notices, but chooses not to say anything for he believes there is little to say. His daughters, Juliet and Jasmine, are another matter entirely, but having grown up with me, they keep their opinions to themselves. They do not understand how I can sit with this moody, bad-tempered, dark-haired dwarf week after week.

On my part, I do not understand how they cannot.

I have little to tell him of my life, and he chooses not to divulge his own past, so instead we talk about anything and everything. We talk of ale, of food, of songs, of dances, of weapons, of dresses, of stars shining in a night sky, of the sun slowly creeping over the horizon.

I learn that he does not eat much, despite the fact that he is a dwarf, and he learns that once food is passed to me, I never stop eating. I learn that he likes fast songs, quick songs, that are easy to dance to, though he also has a healthy respect for slow songs and slow dances, and he learns that as long as there is a song playing, I am usually one of the first on my feet to dance. I learn that he prefers to use a sword over any other weapon, and he learns that I keep a dagger on me always, a dagger I have no idea how to use. I learn that he has little use for fancy outfits and prefers to be in his travelling clothes at all times, and he learns that though I like the dresses and trousers and shirts that I wear every day, I dream of a beautiful white gown made of silk. I learn that he thinks the most beautiful view in the world is that of the moon and stars glittering in the dark velvet of a night sky, and he learns that I love the sun rising over the horizon, pulsing red and orange and yellow.

I learn that it is not so difficult to make him smile, after all, and soon I am waiting for him to come into the tavern every week.

One day, he comes in later than usual, tells me he only wants an ale, that he has no appetite.

"I do not think I shall be coming back," he tells me, gesturing for me to sit down with him once I have brought him his tankard.

"Not coming back?"

Thorin shakes his head, gulps down his ale.

"I have a journey to make," he says. "A journey that if successful, means that I shall have a new home, a home far, far away from The Grey Badger. And should it fail, means that I no longer breathe."

I sit silently for a moment, looking down, twisting my skirt in my hands.

"And you will not tell me what this journey is?" I say, aware that my voice is cracking.

He shakes his head. "I cannot."

Somehow, I manage to dredge up a smile. "I shall miss our conversations."

"As will I." He gives me a long look, as if trying to decide something, and I look back at him, blinking.

Finally he finishes his ale, pushes the chair back.

"Hopefully our paths shall cross one day," I tell him, trying to keep the smile on my face. I will miss him, I know, I will miss him coming in every week with a fierce scowl on his face, I will miss bringing him his food and his ale, I will miss waiting for the tavern to clear so that I can sit down and talk to him until he has to leave.

"I shall keep that hope in my heart," he says, getting to his feet. "I must go – I stopped only to say goodbye."

"Not for the ale?" I say, and this time my smile is real.

"Not for the ale," he says, smiling back at me.

"I suppose that this is goodbye, Master Thorin." I make a small curtsey, awkwardly, aware that despite his being a dwarf I am still a good deal shorter than him.

"Goodbye, Mistress Silverstone." He bows, slightly, then straightens; and then, quickly, he takes my hand, brushes his lips over it, and backs out of the tavern hurriedly.

I stand there for a long moment, my hand still in front of me, my eyes on the door.

* * *

"You are listless, Luna," Juliet says to me a few days later, as we are in the kitchens, scrubbing at plates. Usually there is always one of us out at the bar, but now that Jasmine is older, Julian trusts that she can manage without one of us at the bar.

Of course, Julian and his wife, Marissa, are there to keep an eye on her.

"Listless?" I say, drying a bowl and placing it on the rack.

"Yes, listless," Juliet says. She is twenty, only a year older than me, but being closer to her age than to Jasmine's, we have always found it easy to talk to each other. "Ever since your last conversation with the dwarf."

I turn my head, concentrate on drying the cutlery in my hand.

"It is nothing," I say, refusing to look at her. "I'm merely a little upset that he is no longer returning. Our talks were always interesting."

"Yes, it was hard to catch your attention whenever the two of you started talking," Juliet tells me, and I ignore the questioning undertone in her statement.

I laugh. "Give me a few more days to get over the fact that I shall no longer have amusing conversations with him every week, and I shall be fine again."

"I hope so. I need someone to talk to properly. All Jasmine can talk about is Loys Rostrer!"

We both laugh.

But I know, I know, that it will take me more than a few days to get over this empty feeling in me. It feels as if my heart is missing something; a hole I did not know exist, that had been filled up by Thorin Oakenshield, and that is aching now that he is gone. I cannot understand it.

I can only think that it was because I had few people to talk to apart from Julian and his family, and that Thorin is – was – the only person outside of this small group who actually knew me and I him, and now he is gone.

"Juliet! Luna!" Suddenly Jasmine peers in through the kitchen doorway, her face shining. "Guess who is here! It is Gandalf! Gandalf the Grey!"

Juliet and I exchange looks; and in a moment we are up on our feet, drying our hands, rushing out the door.

A tall, familiar man is seated on a stool at the bar, talking to Julian and Marissa.

"Gandalf!" I do not even think; I hurry out from behind the bar and fling my arms around him.

He laughs, spins me around. "How are you, Luna?"

I can only beam at him, and the empty feeling that has been in my heart lifts slightly. I have not seen Gandalf for months, not since the last time he passed this way, and I am happy to see him again. It was him who found me all those years ago, wandering the woods alone at night, the memory of my family's dead bodies fresh in my mind. It was him who found the silver stone strung around my neck on a silver chain, and gave me 'Silverstone' as a surname once he realised I only knew my first name. It was him who saved me, who gave me to Julian's family to raise me.

I am forever in his debt.

"Oh, nothing changes around here, Gandalf," I tell him, and he smiles, chuckling. I push away the emptiness that is suddenly filling my heart again; for yes, something did change, something wonderful, and now it is gone.

"So, what are you doing in this area at this time, Gandalf?" Julian asks him as we seat ourselves around him.

"Oh, a little of this, a little of that," he says. "Minding my own business, you know." But his eyes sparkle, and we all know he has been doing anything but.

"But actually, I came here for a specific reason," he says, suddenly, his voice turning serious.

Julian eyes him warily. "What would that be?"

"I came to ask – " And here he turns to me " – if Mistress Silverstone would like to go on an adventure."

We all blink at him, unsure if we are hearing him correctly.

"Excuse me?" Marissa says.

He nods. "Yes. I know that you have cared for and raised Mistress Silverstone as if she were your own child. But the truth is that she is not." He turns and looks at me, sadly. "I have seen you grow, my dear, from that frightened little girl to an adventurous and rebellious teenager, one always willing to take risks, to the young woman before me, who still has much to offer. And so I would like to take Miss Silverstone on this adventure, if she would like to come."

There is silence for a long moment, all of us looking at Gandalf.

I am not sure what to think.

Finally Julian turns to me.

"He is right, Luna," he says to me, smiling sadly. "We have raised you up – but you are not our own. It is your own decision to make. We will accept whatever choice you make."

I sit silently, staring at Gandalf before me.

I know that if I stay on at The Grey Badger, I will continue working as a barmaid, continue until I marry or die a spinster. And I know that if I marry, it will almost certainly be someone from the town, and I will have to bear my husband children and watch them grow, and forever stay in this town.

But if I leave?

If I leave, I will be leaving everything I know behind me. I will be leaving Julian, and Marissa, and Juliet and Jasmine.

But, I think, they all have their own lives to live as well.

"Gandalf," I say, "will I return from this journey?"

He looks at me, a long, slow look.

"I cannot promise anything."

I close my eyes, think for a long, long moment.

I think of The Grey Badger, the flickering fireplace, Juliet and Jasmine, Julian and Marissa.

I think of Thorin Oakenshield, going off on his journey, watching the moon and the stars in the night sky, staying in his travelling clothes, raising a sword to defend himself, eating little, hopefully having the chance to listen to music.

I think of how there is a world out there, a world waiting to be discovered, and that there is little for me here – only safety and shelter.

I look up at Gandalf.

"I shall go with you," I say.


	2. Chapter 2

Gandalf refuses to tell me anything of the adventure, only that we will be travelling to The Shire, where we shall meet the rest of the company.

I have never travelled out of the town in my entire life, not since Gandalf found me eleven years ago, and I eagerly drink in the sights, taking in everything that I see.

I think back to my last conversation with Juliet.

She had packed for me some things – a few more sets of spare clothes, an extra waterskin, an extra blanket, an extra bedroll, apples and things like that, as well as a handful of coins. She refused to accept the coins back.

"Make me one promise," she told me, after making sure I kept the coins in my pouch.

"Anything."

"If you do survive, come back to us."

And I flung my arms around her and promised I would.

And Julian – Julian had clapped me on the shoulder, giving me a brief hug, had wished me good luck. Marissa, being her usual self, had told me to make sure I washed my hair and showered as often as possible, before we both collapsed into laughter and she hugged me and told me that she didn't care if I didn't shower as long as I made sure I stayed alive. And Jasmine, she'd just smiled at me, told me to bring back lots of stories for me to tell.

That was nearly a week ago.

"Where are we going to, in The Shire, exactly?" I ask Gandalf.

"We are going to a hobbit-hole called Bag End, located in Hobbiton," he says. "It belongs to a Master Bilbo Baggins."

"Hobbit-hole?"

"Hobbit-holes are quite lovely places, my dear. I shall speak to him when we reach, to arrange for supper when the rest of the company shall meet."

"Does he know he's going on an adventure?" I say, raising an eyebrow, because it sounds just like the thing Gandalf would do – to sign others up for an adventure without informing them.

Gandalf fidgets in his seat.

"No."

I can only smile and shake my head.

* * *

Gandalf leaves me to wait at the bottom of the path with his horse and my pony, and I stand awkwardly, wishing I could be with him. But no – Gandalf had been adamant that I stay put, saying that the sight of me might shock poor Master Baggins.

I am not entirely happy, but I begin to see that he might be right, when the hobbits around me start casting me suspicious glances.

I have never seen a hobbit before, and I can only say that they are wonderful, delightful to look at, what with their curly hair and rosy cheeks. They live peacefully from day to day, and I look around, thinking that if I had to stay in one place for my entire life, I would not mind staying here.

"Who are you, then?"

It is a round hobbit man, looking at me, not suspiciously, but with curiosity.

"Luna Silverstone." I give a curtsey – or as much of a curtsey as I can make, what with holding onto a horse and a pony.

"Hamfast Gamgee," he says to me. "Well, Mistress Silverstone, what are you doing here?"

"Waiting for Gandalf," I say.

"Gandalf! He's not in The Shire?"

"He's paying a visit to Master Bilbo Baggins, I believe," I say, not sure what Gandalf would wish for me to divulge.

"It's been quite a while since we've had Gandalf around," Hamfast Gamgee says, cheerfully. "My children are missing his fireworks."

His fireworks. Of course. I remember nights Gandalf dropped by the tavern, lighting up his fireworks for Juliet and Jasmine and me and the rest of the town children.

"They're quite a sight to behold," I say, politely, wishing that Master Gamgee would go away.

"Oh, look, there he is!" And Hamfast Gamgee is waving as Gandalf strides down the slope towards us.

"Why, Hamfast Gamgee, it's been a while," Gandalf says when he reaches us. "How is Bell? And the children?"

"Oh, Bell is pregnant again," Gamgee says, and off they go, talking about Gamgee's children and his wife and the news of The Shire.

"I'm afraid I must go," Gandalf says, apologetically, after a while, and with a little bob of his head and a cheerful smile, Hamfast Gamgee waves us goodbye and sets off along the path.

"Where are we going?" I ask Gandalf as we begin to move.

"To East Farthing Woods," he says to me. "For you to rest, and for me to make contact with people."

I sigh, but follow after him as he leads me on.

* * *

Night has fallen, thick and dark, when Gandalf decides that it is time for us to make our way to Bag End for supper with Master Bilbo Baggins.

We have just returned to the road when there is a shout behind us: "Gandalf!"

I turn and squint in the darkness.

It is a group of five men – five very short men, all rather round and sturdily built, I think, on ponies, and we wait for them until they near us, until they are right next to us.

And my eyes widen, for I realise that they are not men at all.

They are dwarves.

My mind immediately flies to Thorin Oakenshield, sitting in the corner of The Grey Badger, calling for me to sit with him, talking, simply talking, as the time passes.

I shake my head, turn my focus back onto the dwarves in front of me.

"Seems like we're not late, then," one of them says.

"No, Master Nori, you are not," Gandalf says, and he whispers something to his staff and it glows white.

The dwarves, I notice, suddenly, all are very distinct. There is a young looking dwarf who looks rather shy; another dwarf with his beard in a silver case; another whose eyebrows have somehow been braided into his hair; and then there is an a dwarf with his white beard in two thick braids, and another with ginger hair and braids all over in his beard.

They all look rather cheerful and happy.

And then, I realise, they catch sight of me, and are looking at me curiously.

"Luna," Gandalf says, "allow me to introduce Ori, Dori, Nori, Oin and Gloin."

"At your service," they say, in unison, somehow managing a bow while being burdened with packs and on their ponies.

"This," Gandalf tells them, "is Luna Silverstone, and she will be joining us on our quest."

"Oh," says one, whom I think is Gloin, "I don't think he'll be very happy."

"Well, he shall have to live with my decision," says Gandalf, sharply, as another voice echoes from behind them, and three more figures come riding up on ponies.

Three more dwarves.

My head is reeling. Having Thorin Oakenshield in The Grey Badger had been enough of a shock; to have eight dwarves suddenly in front of me is another thing entirely. I can only blink, stare at them.

The newcomers, I notice, are just as equally distinguishable from each other. One wears a strange hat with a cheeky smile; another has what looks like an _axe _in his head, and the last one is round, extremely so, that I cannot help but wonder how his pony lifts him up.

Once again, Gandalf introduces me, and I am introduced to Bofur, Bifur and Bombur.

"I'm hungry," Bombur announces, once introductions are over.

"Let us set off, then," Gandalf says, "hobbits do love to eat and there is sure to be a good supper waiting for us."

I see smiles break out on the dwarves' faces, and we continue on the path, a group of ten people disturbing the peace and silence of Hobbiton, making our way up to Bag End.

* * *

The house, I think, is lovely; a sweet garden that I know Juliet will love, and a house built into the side of the hill, a round door with a doorknob right in the middle.

Gandalf pulls me back as the dwarves gather in front of us and start hammering on the door.

I can hear enraged shouting from inside the house, ranting and yelling, as the dwarves begin arguing on the doorstep about who is to enter first. They are fighting their way to the front when the door abruptly opens and they all spill out into the house, all eight of them, at the feet of a hobbit with curly brown hair in his dressing robe, an annoyed look on his face.

His eyes glance over me, briefly, before coming to rest on the wizard beside me.

"Gandalf," he says, in a tired voice, and I know immediately that Gandalf did not arrange for the hobbit to prepare supper for us.

When the dwarves finally get themselves off the floor and we are able to enter the house, it is bedlam.

It would be, I think, a lovely place, if I had seen Master Baggins' hobbit-hole without the dwarves.

I stand to the side as the dwarves roam the house, dragging in chairs and food into the dining room, Master Bilbo Baggins rushing after them, making them put away things, trying to salvage as much as he can. Gandalf stands in the middle of the room, trying to make sense of the mess surrounding him.

"Well, I didn't know there'd be someone else joining us!" A voice says in front of me suddenly, and I look up to see two dwarfs put down the barrel they are carrying between them to look at me. One is dark-haired and one is blond, but both, I notice, are rather good-looking.

I fight the thought down immediately.

"Fili – " says the blond dwarf.

" – and Kili – " says the dark-haired one.

"At your service!" they finish, and bow down.

"And I am completely at your service, my lady," Kili says as he straightens, winking at me, and though I know he is flirting for the sake of flirting, flirting because I am the only female in the house, I feel my face heat up and know that I am turning red.

"So what's your name, then?" Fili asks me, smiling slightly.

I curtsey, as much as I can with the dwarves and the noise and the general confusion. "Luna Silverstone, sir."

"And what are you doing here, lovely lady?" says Kili.

I blush again. "Gandalf asked me to join the quest, and I agreed."

At this, Kili and Fili exchange looks.

"Gandalf didn't say anything to us," Kili frowns.

"Uncle will not be happy," says Fili, and Kili nods.

" – Fili, Kili – " Gandalf turns to them suddenly, halfway counting, and the two bow to me once more, grinning, before picking up the barrel and continuing carrying it.

Gandalf continues counting, turning around and around, finishing with Ori, as Bifur – at least, I am fairly sure it is Bifur – comes up and grunts at him, speaking in a guttural language I don't understand, gesturing with his arm.

"Yes, you're quite right, Bifur," says Gandalf, turning away. "We appear to be one dwarf short."

"He is late, is all," says a fierce-looking, tattooed dwarf leaning against a wall. "He travelled north to a meeting of our kin. He will come." He sees me looking at him, turns and bows. "Dwalin, at your service."

I curtsey and mumble "Luna Silverstone" just as Dwalin turns back to Gandalf.

"He will not be happy you have included a human girl in our company," he warns the wizard, and I feel anger rising up in me, hot and sharp. Everyone seems to think that this last dwarf, who has yet to arrive, will never accept me. And I will admit it – I cannot fight, I can hardly cook, I have little experience with travelling out of doors. But I can prove myself, I know I can, and I will.

This last dwarf, whoever he is, will have to deal with me.

I think of Thorin suddenly, Thorin with his small smiles and light chuckles and our conversations. Thorin, on his journey off somewhere, so long ago now. The ache that I had felt at his departure is still there, still as painful as ever.

I choose not to brood over it, instead turn my focus onto the dwarves.

And the next thing I know, Gandalf has led me gently into the dining room, sitting me next to the dwarf with the funny hat – Bofur, I think – and I see the food spread before me.

And despite the noise and the racket that the dwarves are making, despite poor Master Baggins watching us devour his food, I reach out a hand and begin to eat.


	3. Chapter 3

Bofur is friendly, chatting to me when we are both not stuffing our faces with food, making me laugh. He winks at me, a friendly wink, before turning to Bombur seated at the end of the table.

"Bombur, catch!"

And he tosses some food, which Bombur catches in his mouth expertly, and I cannot help but laugh even though I see Master Baggins standing in his pantry, having turned away in disgust.

I feel guilt gnawing at me.

"Who wants an ale?" Fili is standing on the table, walking down, holding tankards in his hands. "An ale for you, lovely lady?" he asks, and offers me a mug, and I blush and stammer no and turn away.

He makes a face at me, grinning, but then turns and continues walking down, passing down the tankards.

I edge myself gently away from the table, drift to the pantry where Master Baggins still stands.

"Master Baggins?" I call, softly, and he turns around sharply. "I'm just – I just would like to apologise, for this mess – "

His face softens at that, and he interrupts me with a "No, it's quite all right," when the dwarves begin to burp, finally eclipsed by a loud, enormous burp, that I find out is from Ori. I see Master Baggins wince and turn away in disgust; I am used to the rowdiness of drunken clients at night, the youths trying to outdo each other from everything from burping to who can hold the most ale to who can eat the most, and I can only shake my head and smile.

* * *

I did not think it possible that the dwarves could cause even more mayhem than they had caused at the dinner table, but I am soon proved wrong, I realise.

As they begin to walk about, I begin to think of Thorin, wonder if he was still be as moody and brooding as he usually is among his kin, wonder if he would have joined this group of dwarves in their merrymaking and fun, or have his serious side be the more dominant side instead, have remained in his corner and watched them.

I think about asking one of the dwarfs if any of them know him, but I push the thought aside immediately. Asking about him would no doubt lead to many unwanted questions – questions I cannot answer, not when there is still an empty gap in my heart where my friend once was.

"Excuse me, that is a doily, not a dishcloth!" I hear Bilbo say, furiously, yanking said doily away from one of the dwarves.

"But it's full of holes," Bofur says, from his position leaning against the wall, as they venture into the next room, the rest of their conversation lost as I remain in my little corner in the room between the dining room and pantry. I see Nori and Bofur playing tug-of-war with a chain of sausages, and I cannot help but smile.

"I don't want to get used to them," Bilbo is saying as he marches back out to where I am, Gandalf following behind him, looking slightly amused. Master Baggins is ranting, waving his hands in the air furiously."The state of my kitchen! There's mud trod into the carpet, they've pi-pillaged the pantry. I'm not even going to tell you what they've done in the bathroom; they've all but destroyed the plumbing. I don't understand what they're doing in my house!"

"Excuse me," Ori says, stepping forward towards Master Baggins and holding a plate in his hand, "I'm sorry to interrupt, but what should I do with my plate?"

I smile at this young dwarf – clearly the youngest of the group, even though he has a beard while Kili doesn't – and his attempt at manners, but then the smile vanishes when Fili steps up from behind Master Baggins.

"Here you go, Ori, give it to me," Fili says cheerfully, and with another wink at me, tosses the plate through the air, to be caught by Kili, who throws it into the kitchen without even looking, where I assume someone catches it because I don't hear a crash.

I cannot help but widen my eyes and gasp as the crockery begin to fly through the air.

Master Baggins still hurries around, trying to regain control of the situation.

"Excuse me, that's my mother's West Farthing crockery, it's a hundred years old!" Master Bilbo Baggins cries out as the other dwarves begin flinging the dishware, another catching it every time. It is like a dance, a beautiful, wild crazy dance, perfectly choreographed. Even Gandalf is bending and turning, trying to avoid the dishware, as he laughs.

And then I see Bofur and Gloin and some of the other dwarves begin drumming out a rhythm on the table with the cutlery, Master Baggins' flustered look as he calls over, agitatedly: "Can – can you please not do that? You'll blunt them!"

"Oh, do you hear that, lads?" Bofur says, raising his eyebrows, grinning at the other dwarves seated at the table around him. "He says we'll blunt the knives!"

With a flick of his hand, tossing another plate, Kili suddenly begins:

"Blunt the knives, bend the forks – "

" – Smash the bottles and burn the corks – " continues Fili.

And suddenly they are all joining in, singing together:

"Chip the glasses and crack the plates

That's what Bilbo Baggins hates!"

And then I let out a shriek as Fili grabs my arm, spinning me around before Kili catches hold of me, and suddenly I am whirling in between the dwarves as Master Baggins' crockery is being flung over my head, and I am laughing and laughing as the dwarves continue their song, dancing from Bofur to Oin, from Oin to Nori, from Nori to Balin, from Balin to Dori, from Dori to Bombur to Ori, and on and on and on.

I think of Thorin, of his enjoying fast songs that are easy to dance to, and wonder if he has ever broken out into song like the dwarves in Master Baggins' hobbit-hole.

"Cut the cloth and tread on the fat

Leave the bones on the bedroom mat

Pour the milk on the pantry floor

Splash the wine on every door

Dump the crocks in a boiling bowl

Pound them up with a thumping pole

When you've finished, if any are whole

Send them down the hall to roll

That's what Bilbo Baggins hates!"

Finally they spin me around until I come to a stop, and I am still laughing, doubling over, and I realise that there in front of me is Master Baggins' dishware, all sparkling clean, every piece in perfect condition.

"Oh," is all I can say, finally straightening up and regaining back some self-restraint, which is far from easy when the dwarves surrounding me are still laughing, now at the expression on Master Baggins' face.

"Look at his face!" I hear Kili say, still laughing, when there is a sudden hammering on the front door.

Immediately all the dwarves fall silent, look serious.

Gandalf removes the pipe from his mouth.

"He is here."

* * *

I choose to let the dwarves swarm before me, knowing that this must be their leader, that they have more right to seeing him first than I do.

I stay behind, keeping out of sight of the door, keeping out of sight of the leader of the company until Gandalf decides to introduce me. It is, it should be, better this way, I decide, seeing especially as how all the dwarves reacted to my presence.

It is one thing for Gandalf to drag you off on an adventure.

It is quite another when someone else is the leader of that adventure and does not wish to have you along.

What if this leader of the company refuses to let me accompany them?

I do not think I can bear to return to The Grey Badger without even having set off.

Gandalf, I think, will be able to persuade him somehow.

I find myself hidden behind Dwalin in one of the doorways – a safe place to hide, I decide.

The hobbit-hole is now so silent that the sound of the door swinging open seems to echo.

"Gandalf," says a voice, and I stiffen suddenly. I _know _that voice. But it can't be, it cannot be – he left more than a week ago, he left on a journey for a home, he has already said his goodbyes, and he never sounds like this, so serious, so condescending.

"I thought you said this place would be easy to find," the voice continues, and I find myself trying to slide my way to the front – it cannot be him, surely it cannot be him, but that empty feeling in my heart is aching even more painfully, I _need_ to see who this new dwarf is for myself. I need to prove to myself that it is not him, that it is just another dwarf. "I lost my way, twice."

And then suddenly I have pushed my way past Dwalin, and I can see a back facing me, a back with long dark hair streaked with grey, with a familiar brown coat, a voice emitting from it: "Wouldn't have found it at all if it hadn't been for the mark on the door."

And he turns, and his eyes widen in disbelief, and I am only vaguely aware of Bilbo trying to get to the door behind me, insisting that there is no mark on the door, and he stares at me and I stare at him.

"Luna," he says, and there is nothing but shock and surprise and disbelief in his voice.

"Thorin," I say.


	4. Chapter 4

**Sorry it took so long - but here's chapter four (finally)! Had to keep redoing it over and over again haha.**

**Anyway, thank you for all the reviews!**

* * *

For a long, long moment, it is as if nothing else matters. I am only aware of Thorin standing before me, when I thought I would never see him again. I blink, as if trying to make sure that he is real. Standing there, his dark hair streaked with grey, with his intense dark eyes, in his well-worn travelling clothes, looking at me in shock.

It is as if there is no one else around us.

He takes a step, one cautious step towards me, and I feel the urge to fling my arms around him.

But I don't.

We have only ever spoken, only ever talked; our one physical contact was at our last meeting, when he kissed my hand before he left. And now, right now; all I can do is stare at him, and him at me.

And then the spell breaks.

"You are familiar with Mistress Silverstone?" Gandalf is asking Thorin, his voice, for once, filled with surprise.

Thorin ignores him completely, continues looking at me, his face slowly hardening. I can only stare back, hoping my face is expressionless, hoping it doesn't betray the whirlwind of emotions I am feeling right now.

Finally he breaks the silence.

"What are you doing here?" he demands, angrily, furiously, eyes flashing.

"I – " I find it difficult to speak, for a moment, and then I swallow and say, "Gandalf asked if I should like to go on an adventure."

"And you agreed?"

He sounds so furious, so – so _annoyed_, that my temper flares up instantly.

"Yes, I agreed," I say, crossing my arms and glaring at him.

"How could you be so stupid?" he roars. "Do you not understand that there is a very high possibility that you will die?"

"That is a chance I am clearly willing to take, then, isn't it?" I yell back.

"Why are you agreeing to go on a quest that you might die on?"

"Why not? Would you rather I waste my life away at The Grey Badger?"

I can feel, to my horror and disgust, tears welling up in my eyes, hot and angry and spilling over.

"Better to waste your life away and to stay safe!"

"Yes, because that is _exactly _what I want to do with my life!"

"Do you even understand what you have agreed to go on?"

"Maybe I would know once you stop screaming at me and actually let Gandalf inform Master Baggins and myself!"

"You mean to say you have agreed to go on a quest you know nothing about except for the fact that there is a very high possibility that you may die?" Thorin demands. "What is _wrong _with you, you ridiculous, foolish girl – "

"You," I say, my voice shaky, cutting into his words, "you, of all people, should understand why I have made my choice to come on this quest!"

I have to shut my eyes, blink back my tears and storm away blindly, pushing myself through the crowd of dwarves and sinking into an armchair in the first empty room I can find.

* * *

I do not know how long I have sat in the chair, my arms wrapped around my knees, when Bofur peers into the room.

"Mistress Silverstone?" he calls, softly, padding over to where I am sitting to sit on a low chair across me. "Would you be all right?"

"No," I say. "I thought that would be obvious."

And then I suddenly realise what I have said.

"I apologise, Master Bofur," I say, rubbing the sleeve of my dress over my eyes. "I did not mean to – "

"No, no!" Bofur says, hurriedly. "No, lass, it's nothing. I understand you're upset – we all do. But I must say, I don't think anyone's ever spoken to Thorin quite like that before. Or argued with him, apart from his sister or Gandalf, or Dwalin or Balin."

"I don't usually shout," I say, guiltily. "Juliet used to say that she's yet to hear me raise my voice, unless it's to call out for something across the room."

"Well, if it's some consolation, lass, you're a scary sight when you get angry, for sure," Bofur says, and I manage a giggle.

"That's better!" he says, grinning at me widely, and I cannot help but smile back at him.

"I'm sorry," I offer.

"Oh, don't be," he says. "He's been nicer to Bilbo than he would've been if he were in his usual mood for sure."

"Is Thori – is Master Thorin still upset?"

"For sure, lass," says a voice from the doorway, "but he refuses to show otherwise."

I raise my head to see Balin and Dwalin enter the room, both of them moving to stand before me, Balin with a comforting look on his face, Dwalin simply looking at me.

"Oh, he'll be fine," says Bofur cheerfully. "What kind of King would he be without some show of emotion every once in a while?"

I freeze then, eyes fixed between Balin and Dwalin.

"King?" I all but squeak out.

Balin looks at me curiously. "King, lass," he says. Then he looks closer at me, and his eyes widen, and I think my face might be paling again, and I know that tears are welling up in my eyes. "Are you quite all right?"

"He never – never said anything about being _royalty_!"

And this feels like the greatest betrayal of all, even though I know he must have his own reasons for keeping his secret.

* * *

Later, after Bofur and Balin and Dwalin have fully explained the quest to me, I sit alone in the armchair, arms wrapped around my knees still, staring at the wall.

"It is cold here."

I stiffen.

Thorin steps into the room, sinks into an armchair opposite me.

I look away. "It is warm enough."

We do not say anything for a while.

"I have explained to the dwarves how we have met," Thorin says, finally. "I have told them you worked at a tavern I visited frequently."

I find that I have nothing to say.

"Luna," he says, softly, gently, and I cannot help it; I turn my head to look at him, and this is the Thorin I know, moody and bad-tempered but kind and gentle, not the demanding, angry dwarf shouting at me just now, looking at me with concern. "This is a dangerous quest. Balin has told me everything has been explained to you. It would be foolish for you to come, for you to have such a risk of dying, when it concerns you little."

"You know me better than that," I say. "I cannot waste my life away at The Grey Badger. And if I am able to help, in any way I can, then I will. I will follow, even if you set off without me."

"You would risk your life for a quest that is not even yours."

I tilt my chin upwards, look straight at him.

"Yes," I say. "I would."

Thorin looks at me.

"Even after so many weeks with you," he says, suddenly, "you still manage to surprise me."

I flush. "As do you."

"You realise the dangers of this quest?" he says. "The dragon that even you may encounter?"

I recall how I felt when Balin explained the quest to me, how my mind had spun, whirled.

Gandalf wants me to join this quest. This quest for the dwarves to reclaim the Lonely Mountain. Against a _dragon_. A dragon, of all things. I remember think I should be terrified, worried, panicking.

Instead, everything feels very distant, very far away, as if the dragon cannot touch me.

Even if I close my eyes and think of a great dragon breathing fire surrounding in mounds of gold, with razor sharp claws and glinting teeth, it doesn't seem very bad; more like a dream than anything else, too distant to be real.

"I do," I say.

He looks at me. "You understand I cannot give you my approval for following us on this quest."

"I have no need for your approval," I say. "And I am not merely following, I am a part of it, am I not?"

He smiles, a small smile, a smile I know so well, gets up from the chair. "Perhaps now I will be able to show you what I mean by the beauty of the stars in a night sky."

"And perhaps I can show you why I prefer the sun rising as compared to the coldness of the night."

He pauses at the doorway, turns back to look at me.

"Balin told me you were upset when you discovered of my heritage," he says, and he looks almost guilty. "I apologise for not telling you – "

"No," I say, quickly, shaking my head. "Don't. I understand that some things are better not to be revealed unless they are necessary to know."

He smiles briefly. "He told me you were furious."

"An exaggeration. I have been thinking about it, though. And I find that I realise it is too great a secret for you to tell, and though I thought at first that I would never forgive you, there is in truth nothing to forgive."

"And here I thought it was my charm that persuaded you otherwise."

"What charm?" I say, and manage a laugh, and Thorin chuckles and finally leaves the room.

* * *

"You want the lass to follow us."

I freeze in my position.

I have just been making my way out of the room, to perhaps find Master Baggins or Gandalf to inquire where I may sleep, when I hear a voice outside the door – Balin's, I think.

"What makes you say that?"

The second voice is familiar, so familiar, to me. Thorin.

"It's not like you've discouraged her, exactly," Balin says. "Or said that you will not be held responsible for whatever happens to her."

"I _am_ responsible for what happens to her."

"But not to Master Baggins?"

"She is but a child, and he is not."

"You would risk her life to come along on this quest?"

"It is her decision to make."

"You want this time with her."

"She is pleasant to converse with."

"We do not yet know why Gandalf has chosen to brought her along."

"I trust Gandalf. Even if I do not understand his reasons, surely they can only be to aid us in our quest."

"I think she has little knowledge of self-defence."

"I will look after her. It is my duty, my responsibility, to do so."

I hear Balin chuckle, and then footsteps fading away.

* * *

Much later, much, much later, I drift out of the bedroom that Master Baggins has allowed me to use, pause in one of the doorways in one of the main rooms, Thorin leaning against the mantelpiece over the fireplace, deep in thought.

And then, slowly, he begins to sing.

"Far over the misty mountains cold

To dungeons deep and caverns old."

I step forwards, slightly, my eyes fixed on him, as the other dwarfs begin to stand, begin to join him in his song.

"We must away ere break of day

To find our long-forgotten gold."

There is some magic in the song, in the singing, in the air.

"The pines were roaring on the height

The winds were moaning in the night

The fire was red, it flaming spread

The trees like torches blazed with light."

Thorin glances up, and his eyes meet mine.


	5. Chapter 5

The next morning I awaken early and find myself wandering to the pantry, trying to find whatever food that is left to make some breakfast.

"You are up early."

I hit my head on a shelf and whirl around, flushing.

It is Thorin, now moving closer, his eyebrows drawn together. "Are you all right?"

"Yes, yes, I'm fine," I manage to say, rubbing my head slightly. "I did not hit the shelf very hard."

"Do not be stubborn," he says.

"I am being truthful."

He laughs.

I find some loaves of bread, some butter, a basket of buns, while Thorin leans against the wall. Despite what I have said to him last night, I still find it difficult to believe that he is a king; it is, I suppose, difficult to imagine anyone you know as a king, especially after said king has often spent hours with you and has made you smile and blush every so often.

I can understand his reasons for keeping it from me, but I do not think I will ever be able to fully accept the fact that he is royalty.

"You are not planning to cook us something, I hope," he says.

I stick out my tongue at him, and he chuckles. "Have no fear," I say. "Master Baggins still has plenty of bread leftover. I shall not be blowing up his kitchen anytime soon."

"I remember when you told me that story," Thorin says, and he is smiling. "How Marissa once tried teaching you how to cook, and ended up having to renovate the kitchen – "

"That," I say, indignantly, "was not entirely my fault. Juliet was there too."

"Did you not say that Juliet had finished nearly twenty minutes before you wrecked the kitchen?"

I open my mouth to protest, and then shut it again, flushing furiously; and Thorin laughs, and takes the basket of buns from me, and brings it into the kitchen while I search for something else to eat, stil pink-faced.

"How on earth do you do that?"

I nearly hit my head on yet another shelf again.

Fili and Kili are standing in the doorway, staring at me, wide-eyed.

"Only Dwalin ever makes him laugh," says Fili.

"Well, our mother too," Kili concedes.

"But it's still difficult."

"We used to make him laugh, but that was years and years ago."

"Sometimes Balin."

"Maybe if the whole place is crazy, he'll laugh."

"But we've never heard him laugh so much in such a short time with one person!"

They are still looking at me, while I stand awkwardly, scrabbling for some fruit I know I saw just a moment ago.

"I – " I begin uncertainly, and then press on, "it's not that hard."

"It's near impossible," says Kili.

I shrug, awkwardly, uncertainly, and turn back to looking for food.

"We'll bring this in," I hear Fili say, and he reaches out and takes the bread and butter, and they back out of the pantry, murmuring.

I absent-mindedly rifle through the shelves, the cupboards.

Fili and Kili, I remember, referred to the leader of their company as their uncle – which makes Thorin their uncle. I cannot understand why I start to feel slightly cold then – Fili and Kili would, I think, be around my age in human years, maybe in their early twenties at most. Which makes Thorin older, much older – at least Julian's age, perhaps? I start to shiver, tug at my sleeves. I do not know why I am shivering, why a coldness settles upon me when I think of Thorin's age. I have never thought about his age before, despite the grey streaks in his hair, the way he speaks as if he has experienced the dangers of a thousand lifetimes.

I have never realised exactly how old he may be.

And neither have I realised how upsetting it would be.

* * *

"Is Master Baggins not coming?" I ask, when all the dwarfs have eaten and we have cleaned up the kitchen, as we saddle up the horses.

"No," says Thorin, just as Gandalf says, "Yes."

They glance at each other, briefly.

"Thorin believes that Bilbo shall not follow us," Gandalf says to me. "I, on the other hand, believe that we will see him join us."

"We've let the contract for him, should he choose to join," Balin adds.

"What do you think, lass?" Bofur asks me.

I pause, bite my lip. "I think," I say, "that Master Baggins will join us."

* * *

"Why do you think Bilbo will join us?" Bofur asks me as I ride alongside him. I would like to ride with Thorin, but he is far, far ahead of me, at the front of the group; and Bofur, I am beginning to realise, is good company, is easy to be around.

"Despite what he says, I do not think he would give up the opportunity for an adventure," I say. "After all, how often would one have the chance to be part of such a quest?"

Bofur laughs: "That's why I came on this quest myself."

I blink, slightly confused. "Not to reclaim your home?"

He shakes his head. "Nah, lass – Bombur, Bifur and myself come from the Blue Mountains. We're miners, really, but Bifur and I do toymaking and such."

"You make toys?"

I feel ashamed that I am suddenly so excited by the thought of toys, but Bofur simply laughs.

"Yes, toys," he says. "From carvings to mechanical ones!"

I think of how wonderful it must be, to create this magic, to make young children happy, to fill their minds with stories and for them to make up their own.

He glances at me.

"I could make one for you, if you like," he offers.

I blush.

"Oh, no, I couldn't – " I begin " – and I'm far too old – "

"No one's too old for toys, lass," he laughs, and winks at me. "I'll see what I can do."

I can feel the heat seeping up into my face, and I know that I am turning bright red, as I am so prone to doing.

I try again: "I couldn't – "

"Nah, lass, it'll be my pleasure," he says, smiling at me, and I cannot help but smile back.

* * *

"Wait!"

The ponies slow down slightly, and I twist in the saddle, a smile breaking out over my face as I see Master Baggins running towards us, flying, the contract in his hand trailing, fluttering behind him.

"Wait!"

The ponies come to a halt, and Master Baggins skids to a halt before Balin.

"I signed it," he says, breathless, waves the contract around.

Balin glances down at him from the pony, takes the contract and peers at it through a pocket-glass, and he smiles at Master Baggins and lowers the glass.

"Everything appears to be in order," Balin says, stowing away the glass, and grins at him. "Welcome, Master Baggins, to the company of Thorin Oakenshield."

The dwarves are cheering, Bofur next to me one of the loudest, but I notice that Thorin looks far from impressed.

"Give him a pony," he calls out, and turns away before anything else can be said.

The look on Master Baggins' face turns to one of panic.

"No, no, no, no, that-that won't be necessary, thank you," he is blabbering, "But I-I'm sure I can keep up on foot. I- I-I've done my fair share of walking holidays, you know. I even got as far as Frogmorton once-WAGH!"

He is cut off abruptly as Fili and Kili, on either side of him, hoist him up onto an empty pony.

"It's wonderful to have you along, Master Baggins," I say, riding forwards slightly to catch up with him.

He smiles at me. "Thank you. Please, just call me Bilbo."

"Bilbo, then," I say.

"Good decision, lad," Bofur says, appearing next to him. "Hopefully none of us will get incinerated, eh?"

He winks at Bilbo, who clears his throat nervously and looks away.

"Oh, I'm only joking," Bofur says.

* * *

"You seem unhappy that Bilbo has agreed to travel with us," I say, when I am finally able to catch up with Thorin, still at the head of the group.

He stiffens, slightly.

"Since when is he Bilbo?" he asks me, his voice low, as it always is. "I thought you called him Master Baggins."

"He asked that I should call him Bilbo," I say, curiously, but Thorin does not elaborate.

"He is a burden," Thorin tells me. "He does not know how to fight, does not know how to defend himself. He has no place amongst us. He is gentlefolk, and the wild is no place for the likes of him. We are only bringing great trouble upon ourselves in bringing him along."

I reel back slightly, as if I have been slapped. "_I_ do not know how to defend myself, and you know I've never travelled out of town before this journey," I say. "Am I not a burden as well?"

He glances up at me, sharply. "Luna, that is not what I meant."

"How is it not?"

"You are different," he says, looking slightly awkward – but that is impossible, Thorin Oakenshield does not look awkward, does not look nervous.

"I do not see how," is all I say.

"Luna – "

"Excuse me, Master Oakenshield," I say, and I fall back and let the others overtake me.

* * *

That night, we set up camp in the woods, and I learn that Bombur makes the most excellent meals.

I stay with Bilbo and Bofur; they both seem to enjoy my company and it is wonderful being around them, Bofur with his easy ways and cheerfulness, Bilbo with his stories and tales of hobbits and the Shire, and his entire extended family.

I cannot imagine what it is like to have such a large family, to have so many people related to you.

To have a home, somewhere that is truly your own.

But, I remind myself, I do have a home, and a family, in The Grey Badger, and with Julian and Marissa and Juliet and Jasmine.

I am taking down my sleeping roll when I hear movement behind me.

"It is difficult to see the stars amongst the trees, but they still can be seen."

I have to bite my lip as I pat Daisy on her nose, as I turn around with my bedroll in my arms.

"There are hardly any stars in the sky," I tell Thorin, and I look away, not moving from my spot.

"You're not looking," he says, and he pauses. "I apologise. For what I said earlier. It is simply that when Gandalf mentioned having a burglar, I thought he would choose someone who knew what they were doing. And so I had higher expectations. And I would prefer to travel with people that I know and understand – and I do not yet know or understand Master Baggins. I did not mean what I said to you earlier. And I apologise for making you feel that you were not wanted."

He is looking at me, looking at me so hard that I have to lower my eyes to the ground.

"I should be apologising," I find myself saying, and I cannot bring myself to look up at him. "I over reacted, I shouldn't have acted the way I did."

He chuckles, ever so softly, at that.

"Perhaps we both did."

And now I find that I can look up, and he is smiling at me, and I am smiling back at him.

* * *

I find a space to lay out my bedroll by the fire, and Bofur lays his out next to mine, with Bilbo on his other side.

"Will you be all right?" he asks me, and I nod.

Just then Thorin appears next to me, as I am spreading out my bedroll still, and he drops a folded cloak in my hands.

"What – "

"Take it," he says, shortly. "The nights grow cold, out in the wild."

"I travelled with Gandalf – "

"Take it," he repeats, and I find that I do not have the heart to argue with him, for the night is indeed growing cold, and an extra blanket seems to be an excellent idea.

"Where did it come from?" I ask him, before he can turn away.

"My belongings," he tells me, and he walks away, moves over to his own bedroll by Dwalin's.

"If you feel cold, lass, I've got a spare cloak somewhere about," Bofur says, watching me draw the cloak around my shoulders tightly.

I smile at him. "I'm fine, thank you."

He peers at me: "You've gone pale."

"I'm always pale," I tell him, and it is true. Juliet used to say that I looked like I would faint at any moment, that it was easy to find me in the darkness because of my paleness.

"If you're sure," he says, uncertainly.

"I am," I assure him.

"Well, just let me know, lass," he says.

I smile at him, wriggle down into my bedroll, and I pull Thorin's cloak about me, and drift into sleep.

* * *

The next morning, I ride with Thorin.

"Do you still keep your dagger on you?" he asks me.

"Of course," I tell him.

"Have you learnt to use it yet?"

"It is on my to-do list," I admit, flushing slightly, and he laughs at that.

"Dwalin and I can teach you, when we set up camp for the night," he says. "He is an expert with weapons."

"He looks like it," I say. "How many does he carry?"

"You'd be surprised. Fili carries even more."

"Fili?"

"Yes. In his boots, his sleeves, his coat, his cloak, his shirt – as long as it can fit a weapon, you'll be sure to find one there."

"He does not look the overly violent type," I say, thinking of Fili offering me ale and making faces at me, of how not just a moment ago I heard him laughing uproariously with the rest of the company.

"He's very protective," Thorin says. "Especially of Kili."

"They are your nephews, are they not?"

"Indeed. And no finer heirs could I ever find."

"They must have learnt from you."

He glances over at me then, and I suddenly find myself flushing furiously, and I have to turn my head and look straight ahead.

"Do you truly think so?" he asks me.

"I've known them but a day or two," I say, "but yes, I do think so."

Thorin says nothing then, merely turns around and fixes his eyes on the path before him.


	6. Chapter 6

"How do you do that, lass?"

I glance up to find Balin, Dwalin, Gloin and Oin standing before me as I swing down from my pony.

I blink at them, confused.

"Do what?"

"That." Dwalin nods in the direction of Thorin, talking to Gandalf a fair distance away. "I've not seen him smile nor laugh so much in years."

"I – " I begin, and then falter, remembering that morning in Bilbo's home, the looks on Fili's and Kili's faces immediately after Thorin left the pantry. "It's – it's not very difficult."

"You're right, lass," Gloin says. "It's near impossible."

This conversation is so very eerily similar to the one with Fili and Kili, in Master Baggins' home.

Is it truly that difficult to make Thorin smile, to make him laugh? I remember thinking so, once; but that was long ago, before we began our conversations, before I knew him.

I do not what to say, do not know how to react, and so I turn my face away.

"You all right, Luna?"

Bofur appears next to me, glancing briefly over my head and then back down at me.

"I'm fine, yes," I say, and I manage to dredge up a smile.

"Well, c'mon, then, you don't want Bombur to eat everything, do you?" he says to me, smiling, cheerful, and I feel the smile on my face begin to grow more real.

"Oh, you are terrible to him," I say.

"Just being truthful," he tells me, grinning, and I laugh. "Come on, now – I really am serious, we've got to get to the food before he finishes everything!"

"He wouldn't finish everyone's lunch, would he?" I ask.

"With Bombur, you never know," he says, shaking his head and pulling a face, and I have to laugh again.

* * *

In the days that pass, I find it easy to fall asleep, easy to jump onto my feet every morning, easy to keep going, to keep moving.

Bofur only laughs and tells me that I have much too much energy, and Bilbo just smiles and chuckles and tells me one morning I'll be lying in my bedroll, refusing to get up.

Some days, I find myself riding next to Thorin, holding conversations like the ones we have had so many times before at The Grey Badger, and he tells me of Erebor, of the Lonely Mountain, of Dale, of how the dragon Smaug came upon them, and of how the Elves gave them no help, treacherous beasts that they were; of how they have made a life for themselves in the Blue Mountains of Ered Luin, of his sister Dis and of Fili's and Kili's childhood.

Other days, I find myself riding with Bofur and Bilbo, Bofur making me laugh with his ridiculous tales, trying to convince me to take a whiff of his pipe, and he tries to draw stories out of me; of my life working in The Grey Badger, of Juliet and Jasmine and Julian and Marissa, of Gandalf and his fireworks, of my hopes and my dreams. With Bilbo, I can hold conversations of home; of a roaring fire in the hearth, of cold winter nights and sunny days in the garden, of books and food and work.

The company of Thorin Oakenshield, I find, despite their crude ways and gruff manners, are people I feel I should never like to part with.

I find it easy to slip through the woods, to spot the animals surrounding us nearly as well as Fili and Kili, to sniff in the sweet smell of flowers and the woody smell of the trees. Bofur asks me if I'm sure I'm not part animal and bursts into laughter when I respond indignantly, sticking out my tongue at him, moving to ride with Bilbo instead.

Every evening, as the rest of the company set up camp, Dwalin teaches me how to use my dagger, how it is a close-combat weapon, how to stab and to slash and to hack.

"You're not half bad, lass," he says, one day, after I have collapsed on the ground after a particularly gruelling session, my back against a fallen log.

I smile, uncertainly. "This is only practice."

"Don't demean yourself," he says. "I've trained far more warriors than you could care to remember. I know someone with skill and talent when I see them. And you've far more than most."

I feel heat rise up into my face.

Perhaps I will not be so useless on this journey after all.

"Hopefully you will not have to use whatever skill you have," a voice says, and Thorin is standing next to me suddenly. "I would prefer you to stay safe."

"We'd all protect you, anyway, lass," Dwalin says, nodding at me briefly, before stowing away his weapons and marching away.

Thorin drops down onto the log behind me.

"Are you all right?" he asks me.

"Just exhausted, that is all." I turn my head and smile up at him, slightly.

He does not look convinced.

"There is something on your mind."

My smile falters, and I look away.

"I really am all right – "

"Do not lie to me, Luna."

We sit in silence for a moment, neither of us saying a word, the voices and laughter of the rest of the company behind us.

"It is simply that – " I pause, try to rearrange my thoughts, to form my sentences. Thorin is silent, waiting patiently. "It is just that I do not – I do not understand why I am on this quest."

"What do you mean?" he asks, his voice gentle, and he slides down onto the ground next to me.

I bite my lip, and my eyes flicker upwards, into his eyes.

"Bilbo is here because Gandalf has made him a burglar," I say, uncertainly. "And Dori, Nori, Ori, all the other dwarves, they are here because they wish to reclaim Erebor. But I do not see what part I have to play in this journey."

"Perhaps," Thorin says, "it is because Gandalf understands you. Perhaps it is because he knows you cannot waste your life away in The Grey Badger, that you have more to offer than you can possibly imagine, that you may aid us in ways that he himself is unsure of yet. Because you are needed."

"Perhaps," I say, and I manage a small laugh, manage to pull my eyes away from his.

"Dinner!"

* * *

"Bofur?"

Bofur lets out a yelp and nearly stumbles over his feet.

"Oh my goodness, I'm so sorry – " I drop my bedroll to the ground, hurry over and grab his arms, help him back onto his feet.

"You scared me, lass," he says, reproachfully, and then grins at me. "Why, you're even more silent than our hobbit is!"

I laugh slightly, gather up my bedroll again.

"Maybe you just weren't listening," I say, as I move nearer to him and begin to spread out my bedroll.

"Oh, it's not just tonight, lass," he says, "everyone's noticed how quiet you are when you move about, how swift and silent you can be."

"It must be a hidden skill of mine."

"Not very well hidden anymore, though, is it?" he laughs, as he settles down into his bedroll. Suddenly his eyes widen, and he scrabbles in his pockets for something. "Oh, I nearly forgot – I made this for you."

He pulls something out of his pockets, presses it into my hands and bringing them to the light of the fire before moving his own away.

My eyes widen.

It is a wooden carving of a dragon, so beautifully detailed and so intricate that I cannot help but gasp. Wings raised, teeth bared, eyes narrow and piercing, claws raised and its tail lashing; it is so lifelike, I am nearly expecting it to let out a stream of fire, to road and bellow.

"It's beautiful," is all I can say, my eyes never leaving the dragon.

"Oh, it's nothing," Bofur says, but his voice is pleased, happy. "I would have made you a mechanical one, one that could move and breathe fire, but I don't have the materials with me, so I had to settle for a carving instead. Do you – do you like it?"

"Like it?" I am finally able to raise my eyes and look up at him, and I do not even think, I fling my arms around him, hugging him tightly. "I _love_ it!"

Slowly, almost awkwardly, he wraps his arms around me, hugging me back.

"I'm glad you like it," he says, into my hair.

"I _love_ it," I tell him. "It's beautiful."

* * *

"So, Mistress Silverstone," Kili says the next morning, bringing his pony up next to mine.

"We made a very interesting observation yesterday," says Fili, appearing on my other side.

"Do tell us."

"What exactly is going on between you and Bofur?"

They both turn to look at me, wide grins on their faces, and I begin to flush, realising what Bofur and I must have looked like to the rest of the company the previous night.

"Oh, she's blushing," Kili says, and I can hear the laughter in his voice.

"It's nothing," I manage to mutter. "It's just – he gave me the loveliest present."

"A present!"

"Would you care to show us, Mistress Silverstone?"

"Or is it a special, private gift?"

I feel my face growing ever warmer.

"It's a carving," I say, and I draw it out of my saddle pack, hold the small wooden dragon in my palm.

Fili's eyes widen as he leans over to peer at it more carefully.

Kili whistles.

"Well, that's really something, that is," Fili says. "This must be one of his best works yet!"

"And to think he did it on the road instead of his workshop," says Kili.

"Well, Mistress Silverstone," says Fili, "I do think Bofur is an excellent choice."

"An excellent – what?"

"Oh, Bofur's an excellent toymaker, but we've never seen this amount of detail in anything that he's made before," Kili says.

"You can see all the care that's gone into it," adds Fili.

"Like my brother says, Mistress Silverstone," says Kili. "An excellent choice."

"Although we're absolutely heartbroken you didn't give us a chance first."

"I'd have you swept off your feet in a heartbeat."

"Don't be stupid, Kee. I'm obviously much more charming."

"I think you might be slightly delusional there, brother."

"Well, jokes aside, Mistress Silverstone," says Fili.

"We just wanted you to know we approve entirely of you and Bofur."

I am stuttering, flushing, as I hastily stow away the carving.

"Stop it, you two," Dwalin barks from behind us, and Fili and Kili let out yelps simultaneously as he tosses something at the back of their heads.

"Just a bit of fun, Mister Dwalin," Kili says.

Fili grins, turns to me. "Don't worry, Luna," he says. "Just let us have our fun, would you?"

I feel myself turning even redder, if possible.

"Leave her _alone_," growls Dwalin, and again they groan simultaneously as he tosses something else at each of them. "Let her be."

"Sorry, Luna," Kili grins at me.

"We really are joking, don't worry," Fili adds.

"We know you and Bofur are merely friends," chuckles Kili.

"It seems, however, that we would need to work on our entertainment skills," says Fili, and they both chuckle and fall behind, leaving me blushing.

* * *

That night, we camp by the edge of a cliff.

I sit by the fire, unable to sleep, Fili and Kili on one side of me, Bofur on my other. I think back to Fili's and Kili's ridiculous conversation with me earlier, their teasing, and push it out of mind. I have only known Bofur a few days, and he is a wonderful friend, that is all, and I know he sees me the same way. He is someone I can talk to easily, laugh with easily. Fili and Kili, I think, must simply be bored.

Then I catch sight of Thorin, dozing off.

Thorin.

Somehow, I am thankful that he did not see me hug Bofur last night, that none of the other dwarves saw it apart from Fili and Kili and Dwalin, who was on first watch.

I am not very sure why, but I do not want him to know.

I shiver, pull Thorin's cloak around me even more tightly.

"You cold?" Bofur asks me, lowering his pipe.

I shiver, nod my head.

"C'mon, then." He gestures for me to move closer to him, and I do so, gratefully, as he wraps his arm around me, pulling me closer, and I lean my back against the wall, rest my head on his shoulder.

"Thank you," I murmur.

"Oh, it's nothing," he says, easily, as I curl up against him.

Suddenly there is a loud screech, a loud scream, echoing through the night, and I stiffen.

"What was that?" Bilbo asks, stumbling over to the fire.

"Orcs," Kili says, and an image flashes into my mind, an image of pale, white, distorted faces, growls, weapons swinging through the air, blood and flesh and gore, and I begin to shudder uncontrollably.

"Are you all right?" Bofur asks me, worriedly, and I mumble a "yes", curl up against him even more.

"Orcs?" asks Bilbo.

"Throat-cutters," Fili tells him. "There'll be dozens of them out there. The lowlands are crawling with them."

Flash of moonlight on a shining weapon, hoarse shouts and yells, laughter, a slithering, raspy voice, shouted orders, blood and death.

"They strike in the wee small hours, when everyone's asleep," says Kili. "Quick and quiet; no screams, just lots of blood."

No, I think. No, that's wrong. I can hear screams still, shouts of panic, cold, cruel laughter, searing pain and heartwrenching screams and blood gushing.

"Luna," I hear Bofur murmur, and he pulls me even closer, draws me nearer to the fire.

I hear Fili and Kili begin to chuckle.

"You think that's funny?" I find myself snapping, and I suddenly realise that I am not alone – my eyes flicker briefly to Thorin, who has spoken up with the same words that I have, and his gaze rests on me before he continues, "You think a night raid by Orcs is a joke?"

"We didn't mean anything by it," Kili says, sounding ashamed now, sounding upset.

"No, you didn't," Thorin says, and he glances over at me again before walking to the edge of the cliff: "You know nothing of the world."

I shudder again as a humanoid face flashes into my mind, ghostly white and pale, scars etched across it.

"Don't mind him, laddie," a voice says, and Balin appears, leaning against the rock. "Thorin has more cause than most to hate Orcs. After the dragon took the Lonely Mountain, King Thror tried to reclaim the ancient dwarf kingdom of Moria. But our enemy had got there first."

"Are you all right?" Bofur asks me, worriedly, and I pull myself together, force myself to stop shuddering, manage to give him a smile and a nod.

"Moria had been taken by legions of Orcs lead by the most vile of all their race: Azog, the Defiler," Balin is saying, and another image flashes into my mind; that of what I think must be a great pale Orc, scarred and horrid and fierce, madness and hunger and rage in his eyes, roaring. "The giant Gundabad Orc had sworn to wipe out the line of Durin. He began – " a pause, and then Balin continues, his voice full of pain " – by beheading the King."

A loud roar, one of triumph, blood spilling.

"Thrain, Thorin's father, was driven mad by grief. He went missing, taken prisoner or killed, we did not know. We were leaderless. Defeat and death were upon us."

I push the image of the pale Orc out of my mind, and I glance over at Thorin instead, think of what it must have been like, to see his grandfather slain and beheaded before his very eyes, to not only have no King but no grandfather or father as well. He stands upon the edge of the cliff, looking out, and I wonder if he can hear Balin's recital of the tale.

"That is when I saw him: a young dwarf prince facing down the Pale Orc."

I think of Thorin, a Thorin who looks much like the Thorin I know now, battling the great pale Orc whose image I have just seen in my mind, the pale Orc with its cruel sneer and battle-worn face.

"He stood alone against this terrible foe, his armour rent…wielding nothing but an oaken branch as a shield."

The pale Orc stands out in my mind, his face cold and cruel, his left arm merely a stump, his eyes gleaming with darkness.

"Azog, the Defiler, learned that day that the line of Durin would not be so easily broken."

I think of a cold, cruel light in those eyes of the pale Orc, a hunger for vengeance shining in them, a lust for revenge.

I see him standing in the darkness of the night, the moon shining above him.

I am suddenly shaking, shuddering, drawing myself closer to Bofur, wrapping my arms around myself.

"Our forces rallied and drove the orcs back. Our enemy had been defeated. But there was no feast, no song, that night, for our dead were beyond the count of grief. We few had survived."

I can hear the sadness in Balin's voice, hear the grief, the pain, the loss.

"And I thought to myself then, there is one who I could follow." He lifts his head. "There is one I could call King."

Thorin turns around then, turns around to see nearly all the dwarves on their feet, looking at him with awe, and I see something glint in his eyes as they rest to fall on me.

I can see the sadness, the grief and the pain and the loss that I heard in Balin's voice.

"But the pale Orc," Bilbo says, turning to Balin. "What happened to him?"

"He slunk back into the hole whence he came," Thorin says, striding past him. "That filth died of his wounds long ago."

And, somehow, that cold, cruel face appears in my mind, and I see his figure stride through the darkness of the forest in the moonlight, his left arm ending in a stump and very much alive.

I shiver, pull the cloak around myself more tightly, and rest my head on Bofur's shoulder.

* * *

**Reviews make me write faster. Really. I promise. No kidding.**


	7. Chapter 7

**Hello!**

**I'm so, so sorry this took so long to upload! Been really really busy with school, and I've had little inspiration for writing...I'm sorry!**

* * *

The next morning I awaken shuddering, shivering, huddling into my bedroll, tightly rolled in Thorin's cloak.

The sun has not yet risen when I rise from my roll, pack up my things, and settle by the edge of the cliff, staring out at the sky.

"The sky is growing light, but you can still see the stars."

It is Thorin, sinking down next to me, looking out over the cliff.

"They are hardly visible," I say.

"Yes," he agrees. "It is their time to fade, as they await for the sun to appear." He turns to look at me. "Do not tell me you have woken early merely to see the sun rise. There is still far too much time for that."

I shake my head, pull the cloak closely around me.

"You are shivering."

His face is pulled into a frown.

"It is nothing," I tell him. "Just a nightmare."

"Not just a nightmare, if you still shiver so."

I smile weakly, not wanting to think of the dreams that have haunted me all night; of bloodthirsty creatures that can only be Orcs, of howls echoing through a forest and the silver of the moonlight shining on the ground, of blood spilling and terrified screams and cruel, wicked laughter.

He raises an arm slightly, as if uncertainly; and then he places it around my shoulders, and draws me close.

I find myself relaxing, grasping at the warmth that is now wrapping around me.

I do not, I tell myself, I do not think of how my heart raced when he placed his arm about me and pulled me close, of how I stiffened slightly before I relax and sink into the warmth of his arm around me.

Slowly, on the edge of the cliff on the cold hard ground, I drift into a peaceful sleep.

* * *

Some days later, as we travel through a forest, Bofur riding beside me, it starts to rain.

The weather has been nothing but fair since we first set out, and so this rain comes as a shock to all of us, and I shiver in my saddle, wishing that I have a hood, to cover my head from the rain pattering down on us.

And then something large and round slips over my head, nearly blocking my sight, and I raise a hand to push it up and turn around to see Bofur lean back, the rain now pattering onto his bare head.

He looks so strange, so empty, without his hat.

My hand flies to examine the top of my head, and yes, sure enough, I feel Bofur's strange, funny hat on it, much too big for me. "Bofur!"

"Oh, it's all right, lass," he says, cheerfully, pulls up the hood of his cloak over his head. "I've got this."

"But your hat – "

"Well, you need it for sure," he says. "Keep it. Return it once the rain's stopped."

"I couldn't – " I try, again, but Bofur only chuckles and shakes his head and tells me not to be so stubborn.

I do not know what to say, and I begin mumbling "Thank you"s, not knowing how to react to this display of kindness, for I can see that the hood does not protect him from the rain very well, while his hat keeps my head completely dry.

"S'all right," he says, again, and he begins puffing on his pipe, pulling it away and glaring at it before attempting once more.

I have to bite back a smile.

"It doesn't look half-bad on you, you know," Bofur tells me. "My hat."

I laugh, try to imagine his ridiculous hat on my head. "If Juliet could see me now, I am sure she would be horrified."

"There's nothing wrong with my hat!" he says indignantly, pulling a face, and I have to hide a giggle.

"Here, Mr Gandalf, can't you do something about this deluge?" I hear Dori call out, and Bofur and I exchange glances and fight back giggles.

"You see what I mean, lass?" Bofur mutters to me under his breath, the grin wide on his face. "_Deluge_. Always trying to be all high-class and proper, Dori is."

"You _are_ mean," I say, but I am fighting back a laugh as well, and he winks at me.

"It is raining, Master Dwarf, and it will continue to rain until the rain is done!" Gandalf answers, slightly ahead of us. "If you wish to change the weather of the world, you should find yourself another wizard."

My eyes widen.

"I didn't know there were other wizards!" I tell Bofur, who just nods and attempts another puff on his pipe.

"Are there any?" Bilbo asks.

"What?"

"Other wizards."

"There are five of us," Gandalf tells him, and I ride forward slightly to hear them better. "The greatest of our order is Saruman the White. Then there are the two Blue Wizards – you know, I've quite forgotten their names."

"And who is the fifth?"

"Well, that would be Radagast, the Brown."

"Is he a great wizard, or is he more like you?"

I cannot help the giggle that escapes my mouth at Bilbo's question, and the hobbit flushes slightly when he realises what he has said. Gandalf glances down at him, and then at me, sternly; and then he laughs, gently.

"I think he's a very great wizard, in his own way. He's a gentle soul who prefers the company of animals to others. He keeps a watchful eye over the vast forest lands to the East, and a good thing too, for always Evil will look to find a foothold in this world."

But Bilbo is no longer truly listening; instead, his eyes are fixed on me, and I realise that he is staring at Bofur's hat.

"That's Bofur's hat," he says.

My eyes flicker upward, and I flush. "Yes," I say.

Gandalf twists around on his horse, looks at me with surprise. "I have never known Bofur to offer his hat to anyone."

I find that I do not know what to say or what to do.

I smile again, weakly, and slow Daisy down enough to ride back alongside Bofur.

* * *

Later that day, when the rain has finally cleared, we come to an old, abandoned farmhouse.

"We'll camp here for the night," Thorin is saying. "Fili, Kili, look after the ponies. Make sure you stay with them."

I scramble down from my pony, grateful to finally get off. I am still wearing Bofur's hat – he refuses to take it back, insisting that I look good in it – and it slips down over my eyes as I reach the ground.

As I push it back up onto my head properly, I see Thorin glance over, see his face darken slightly.

"A farmer and his family used to live here," Gandalf says, and I turn away from Thorin's dark look, turn away to stroke Daisy's nose instead.

"Oin, Gloin," Thorin barks. "Get a fire going."

"Right you are," Gloin says, as Thorin trudges towards the farmhouse.

"I think it would be wise to move on," I hear Gandalf say, his voice fading, as he follows Thorin, and I turn my attention back to Daisy, back to the rest of the ponies, back to Bofur.

"You're wearing Bofur's hat," Dwalin says, suddenly, sharply, and my eyes flicker upwards, and I blink uncertainly.

"He's refused to take it back," I tell him.

"I've not known him to ever part from it," he says, and he is frowning, his face thoughtful.

I feel the heat rising into my face, and again I turn away, and again I turn to Daisy.

* * *

"Are you all right?"

I slip onto the ground next to Thorin, who is clutching an empty bowl in his hands, his face hidden in shadow.

He glances up at me, briefly.

I think of how Gandalf stormed away, earlier that day, face furious, how Thorin had remained in a bad temper ever since – how, in fact, he still is in a bad temper.

"An argument with Gandalf," he says, shortly. "That is all."

I think it may be best if I do not say anything.

"Why were you wearing Bofur's hat?" he asks suddenly, turning to look away from me.

"It – it was raining, and I didn't have anything to cover my head," I say, uncertainly, and I am suddenly wishing that I forced Bofur to take his hat back instead of letting me use it.

"He never lends his hat to anyone."

"Well, perhaps he thought I might need it or risk being completely drenched," I snap, suddenly annoyed that we are having this conversation, that I seem to be having this conversation with everyone, but most of all, I really do not wish to be having this conversation with Thorin Oakenshield. "After all, I believe getting completely soaked is a side effect of riding in the rain without anything to cover your head."

There is a tense silence, for a moment.

"I'm sorry," he says. "I did not mean anything."

"No," I say, "it's me. I'm sorry. It's just that everyone's been saying the exact same thing – "

"It matters not, if everyone else has been saying it. _I_ should not have."

I open my mouth, then shut it again, unsure of how to respond.

"As you have said," I say, uncertainly. "It matters not."

He turns to face me then, and a smile flickers across his face, and I smile back at him.

"Look up," he says, and he tilts his head backwards to look up towards the sky, and I set my bowl down, and do the same. "Do you see the stars?"

Somehow, his hand shifts on the ground so that it is resting on mine.

I have noticed the stars in the night sky before today, but for some reason they seem to glow even brighter and sparkle even more tonight.

"Yes," I say. "I understand what you said, before. They _are_ beautiful."

I am grateful for the darkness, grateful that we are sitting slightly apart from the company and away from the fire, because I am quite sure my face is turning red.

I tell myself that it has nothing to do with the fact that I am sitting so close to Thorin, or the fact that his hand is resting on mine.

Nothing at all.

"They are lovely," he says. For a moment, it seems as if he is going to say something more; but then he moves away, takes away his hand, turns his head away.

Suddenly I feel cold, and I wrap my arms around myself.

"Trolls!"

Suddenly Fili is here, scrambling towards us, his blond hair flying behind him, and he skids to a halt in the middle of the company.

"Trolls," he repeats. "They've taken the ponies. Bilbo is trying to release them and Kili is keeping watch."

There is silence for a moment – and then all the dwarves are up on their feet, grabbing their weapons.

"Stay here," Thorin tells me, before I can even move. "It's too dangerous."

"But – "

"Stay safe," he says. "Please."

He looks at me then, looks me in the eyes in the flickering firelight, and I nod, numbly.

"We'll be back soon with the hobbit," he says. "And you'll be able to watch Fili and Kili getting the scolding of a lifetime."

"That I'd like to see," I say, and I smile weakly, as they turn away and begin running through the trees.

Trolls.

Now that, I think, would be interesting. Trolls, real trolls – so far, our whole journey has simply been travelling and travelling, that I do not think I would mind seeing trolls, no matter how dangerous they may be.

I sit by the fire for a long while, arms wrapped around my knees.

* * *

Too long.

That is the only thing I can think, staring into the fire now flickering into ashes. They have been gone for too long, much too long.

Thorin has told me to stay by the fire.

I grit my teeth, clamber to my feet and pull out my dagger.

I have been sitting alone by the fire for far too long.

Slowly, quietly, I creep through the trees, and my ears prick up as I hear low, gruff voices – and as I continue making my way through the forest, I see, in the darkness, a flickering fire.

A flickering fire with something being turned over it, emitting loud yells.

Dwalin – surely that is not Dwalin's voice?

Of course. This is the only reason why they would take so long.

I feel myself grow cold, and then I shake my head, force myself on, continue trudging through the trees quietly, until I am right by them, and I can see them clearly now – three large, gruesome, disgusting beings, and some of the dwarves over the fire and some tied up in sacks and on the ground.

I can see Bofur being turned over the fire, Thorin huddled in his sack, glaring up at the trolls.

Three disgusting, massive trolls.

I have to clamp a hand over my mouth.

My other hand tightens around my dagger.

What can I possibly do against three trolls, what can I possibly do to help?

It is impossible, I think, and I am growing even colder, shuddering now. Our quest cannot end here, not when it has barely begun. I refuse to let them be eaten by disgusting trolls.

I find myself wishing that Gandalf is here, but I push the thought away. He is not here right now, and he can do nothing to help. But surely – yes, he will surely come back.

All I need to do is to find a way to delay the trolls.

I glance around the forest.

Small, sharp rocks and stones are scattered over the forest floor.

A glimmer of an idea starts to form in my head.

I scoop up a handful of sharp stones, and quick as I can, throw one at the nearest troll.

"Hey! What was that?" His voice sounds higher than the other trolls, and he swoops down, squinting into the darkness, and I slip around a few more trees, grateful for the fact that I am quick and small and quiet.

I pick up another stone and throw it another troll, who lets out a yelp and drops the spoon he is holding.

"There are more of you out there!" he howls, and he swipes at Bilbo, whom I suddenly notice, with horror, is standing up in his sack, and is now struggling to jump away from the troll.

Another stone flies, this one hitting the back of the same troll's hand before he can reach Bilbo, and he roars, whirling around.

I find myself grinning, as I dart from behind one tree to the next, throwing stones at the trolls as they howl and roar, stumbling around, trying to find me. I should be scared, I should be terrified – but instead I have to fight back laughter, as I dance around their clearing.

"That's it!" One of them howls, and then he reaches forward and grabs Bombur. "I don't believe you have parasites at all!"

"No, you really don't want to eat him!" Bilbo calls out, desperately, as I slow to a halt behind one of the trees, my eyes widening in horror as the troll dangles Bombur over his mouth.

I do not even think – I throw my dagger, the dagger I have carried around for so long and which Dwalin has been teaching me how to use – I throw my dagger straight at the troll holding Bombur up.

He lets out a shriek as it lands straight into his hand, and he drops Bombur as he hunches over the dagger now embedded in his hand.

"You little ferret, what other friends have you got hiding out here?" Another growls, taking another swipe at Bilbo, who somehow manages to stumble out of reach.

"Ferret?" Bilbo splutters, sounding indignant.

"The dawn will take you all!" A voice, a so wonderfully familiar voice, roars out, and Gandalf, wonderful Gandalf, appears at the top of a large rock as the sun rises behind him.

"Who's that?" the injured troll manages to whimper, still clutching his hand.

"No idea."

"Can we eat him too?" The last troll asks, just as Gandalf brings his staff down onto the rock, splitting it in two.

My jaw drops as the trolls shriek with pain and fear as the sunlight touches them, as they begin to writhe and harden into stone.

* * *

"What were you _thinking_?"

I stand across from Thorin, arms crossed, anger rising in me with every word he says.

"I was _thinking_ that maybe I was trying to _help _you!"

"You could have gotten yourself killed!" he yells at me.

"The risk being, clearly, much worse than letting you all be eaten by trolls!"

"They could have seen you, they could have caught you - "

"They didn't see me at all!"

"It was dangerous!"

"I barely did anything!"

"You were throwing stones at them! In plain sight! It's a wonder they didn't catch sight of you!"

"Well, they did not see me, did they? It was a small chance that they would!"

"There would not have even been a chance of them seeing you if you had stayed by the fire like I told you too!"

"You were gone much too long!"

"Have you no regard for your safety at all?"

"Do you not think that perhaps you should accept someone's help with thanks, instead of screaming at them about how foolish and stupid they are?"

I am blinking back tears now, biting my lip, as I turn away from Thorin, march away through the trees until I reach where we made camp the night before.

I sink down by the abandoned farmhouse, hugging my knees.

Thorin, stupid, stupid Thorin. All I was trying to do was help, and I did help, I know I did –

I tilt my head back, try to stop the tears from sliding down my face.

"Luna?"

It is Bofur, settling down onto the ground opposite me, holding my dagger in his hand.

"It dropped out of the troll when he turned to stone," he tells me. "You probably didn't see it, seeing as how you were rushing to untie all of us – "

"No, I didn't," I say, and, slowly, I extend a hand, take the dagger back and stow it away. I manage a smile. "Thank you, Bofur."

"Oh, it's nothing," he says, easily, smiles at me. "Are you all right?"

"It's just – he could say _thank you_!" I have to start blinking again, to keep back the tears. "Or, he need not even do that, but he has no reason to shout a me so – "

"He's worried, lass," Bofur says, reaches out and takes my hand. "That's all. He just wants you to stay safe."

"I have learnt how to protect myself!" I say. "And both Bilbo and I have had little fighting experience before. Simply because I am female does not mean I have to be protected all the time!"

Bofur looks at me strangely, then, and opens his mouth as if to say something, but then we hear Thorin's voice, loud, commanding, saying that we need to find the troll-hole.

Abruptly, he turns around the corner of the farmhouse, and his eyes fall on us – of Bofur sitting cross-legged opposite me, of my hand in his, of how I have leaned forward to speak better to him.

Thorin's face darkens.

"We leave to search for the troll-cave," he says, shortly, and his eyes flicker to meet mine.

And then his face hardens, and he looks away and turns his back.


	8. Chapter 8

**Reviews make me write faster. Really.**

**It's not much, I know, and I'm sorry! But have been really, really busy with schoolwork.**

**More of Luna's past (before Gandalf found her) will be in the next chapter! For whoever is interested in knowing.**

* * *

Bofur helps me as we stumble through the trees, looking for the troll-hole.

"You know," he says, "that was a good shot with the dagger, just now."

"Good shot?" Ori echoes. "It was amazing!"

"Not bad at all," Gloin grunts, nodding.

"Very good, in fact," Kili says.

My face is red, I know it is, and I am not very sure how to respond.

"Lucky shot?" I suggest, weakly.

Dwalin laughs then, a loud, booming laugh. "Don't underestimate yourself, lass."

I smile weakly at him, and he smiles at me, a wide, sincere smile.

Bofur raises a hand and messes up my hair, laughing when I make a face at him and rap him sharply on his head.

Then my eyes fall on Thorin in front, glancing back every once in a while, his gaze cold.

My smile falters, and I have to look away.

* * *

Later, Bofur refuses to allow me to go into the troll-cave, telling me it is much too dirty and smelly and disgusting. I attempt to argue with him, but even Gandalf tells me he thinks the troll-hole is something I should miss, and I fall silent, turning my back on both of them, causing them both to chuckle.

I do not forget that Thorin stands nearby, glowering silently, and not saying a thing.

I wander over to where Dori and Ori sit, Ori's hand flying over the book he carries about with him everywhere, Dori simply sitting still, looking deep in thought.

"Are you drawing?" I ask, curiously, craning my neck, and I leap back when Ori snaps the book shut. "Oh, I'm sorry, I apologise, I shouldn't have asked – "

He smiles at me then, a soft, gentle smile, and flips the book back open. "No, you just startled me."

I smile at him uncertainly.

"I'm drawing last night," he tells me. "The trolls, and your throwing the dagger."

"A good shot, that was," Dori says, suddenly awakening from his thoughts. "Good, very good. Did you do a lot of target practice, before?"

I blink at him. "No," I confess. "Never, apart from the occasional game of darts."

He nods: "Good, a very good shot. I don't think even Dwalin might have done it."

"Don't let him hear you say that," Ori tells his older brother.

Dori chuckles then, slightly.

I sit with them a while longer, Dori telling me about Ori's obsession with drawing and writing and recording and whatnot, Ori retaliating by telling me of Dori's strange habits in his belief that he is much more sophisticated than all of them put together. I cannot help but giggle at these two brothers, the oldest and the youngest, making fun of each other good-naturedly, Ori sticking his tongue out just to annoy Dori, who huffs in exasperation and berates him each time.

And then Bofur and Thorin and Gloin and Nori and Dwalin are climbing out of the troll-hole, Gandalf behind them, and I clamber to my feet, wondering how I am to get to Bofur without encountering Thorin – because it is clear, so clear, that he is unhappy with me, and still angry with me, and I do not know what to do, how to react.

I think of how his anger seemed to grow only after he saw Bofur and me, and I flush.

Could he think there is something happening between Bofur and myself?

And yet if he does indeed think so, why would this make him angry?

I find myself wondering about the answer, feel the blush creeping up into my face.

Could it possibly - ?

No, I tell myself. No. I am being ridiculous. Thorin, I know, is possessive by nature; he has always been my closest friend in the company, on account of his hours spent with me in the inn, and he is most likely simply annoyed that I have now grown so close to Bofur, and thinks that I will no longer speak as much to him or spend hours conversing with him as I usually do, and that I will spend my time with Bofur instead.

Perhaps he thinks our friendship will no longer be as strong as it once was – because I know, I know that there has always been this special bond of friendship between us that we have both felt, though we have never said anything.

Suddenly, Thorin is standing in front of me, in my path, looking away but obviously seeking to speak with me.

I turn my face away as well.

I cannot look at him.

"I apologise," he says, finally, awkwardly. "For shouting. I worry for your safety, that is all. It was reckless, doing what you did."

"I had to help you, and the others," I say, just as awkwardly. "I couldn't – I couldn't let you all get eaten, not when I could do something about it."

"It was brave of you," he says. "And – you were very good."

"I couldn't not do it," I tell him. "And – uh – thank you."

I raise my eyes to look at him, and find him looking at me.

He opens his mouth, as if to say something, and then shuts it again.

Thorin looks, for a moment, as if he is having an internal argument with himself – and then he presses something into my hands, something cooling and sharp hanging on a chain.

I open my hands, and my eyes widen.

It is a bird in flight, made of silver, shining brightly and glinting white, strung onto a silver chain. Wings spread, soaring in the sky, bright and free and joyful. It is lovely, it is beautiful, it is magical.

"I found it in the troll-cave," he says, gruffly. "Cleaned it up. I thought you might like it."

I do not even think.

I fling my arms around him, bury my head in his shoulder.

He stiffens, slightly, before, cautiously, awkwardly, wrapping his arms around me.

Finally, I pull away, the necklace still clutched in my hands. There are no words I can say, but he smiles at the sight of the smile on my face, and I know that he understands all that I want to say without actually saying a thing.

Thorin pauses, then takes the ends of the chains, circles it around my neck.

I am the one who stiffens then, stiffens as his arms encircles my head, as he clasps the necklace.

"You make it even lovelier than it already is," he tells me; and then he jerks his head, strangely, and backs away.

My hand is resting on the pendant, and I can feel a smile spreading over my face, a large, wide smile that I cannot control.

* * *

"What's that, then?"

Bofur peers at my neck curiously, where the necklace, glittering silver, rests.

My hand flies up.

"A – a present."

I flush then, and I know my face is red, turning even redder, as I think of how Thorin all but pressed it into my hands, how I flung my arms around him. What was I _thinking_?

But then I think of how angry he was when he saw me with Bofur, how his hands circled my neck and clasped the necklace, and a smile drifts across my face.

"Are you all right, lass?" Bofur asks, waving a hand in front of my face, looking at me slightly worriedly.

I snap back into reality, blink a few times, smile at him.

"Yes," I say, and my hand closes around the necklace slightly. "Yes, I'm fine."

"Something's coming!" we hear Thorin yell then, his voice loud and sharp, and my eyes widen and my hands fly down to my dagger.

"Stick with me, lass," Bofur says to me, quickly, hurriedly, and I am aware of Dwalin and Gloin on either side of me as we run into the woods.

* * *

Radagast the Brown, I think, is an amusing character indeed.

He seems to take little notice of the bird faeces trailing down his face, nor seems to care that a stick insect has taken residency of his mouth.

He stands with Gandalf, in an area far from the rest of us, as we wait for them.

"That's a pretty thing."

It is Dwalin, glancing over at me, catching sight of the silver chain about my neck and the pendant hanging from it.

I find that I have nothing to say, and I can only beam at him brightly.

He raises an eyebrow, curiously.

Suddenly there is a long, drawn-out howl, a wolf howl, and the dwarves around me all jerk upright, on the alert.

"Was that a wolf?" Bilbo asks, stammering: "Are there – are there wolves out there?"

"Wolves?" Bofur echoes, steps to stand slightly closer to me. "No, that is not a wolf."

And then a creature, large and grey and wolf-like, snarling, leaps into the middle of the company.

I cannot recall seeing such a creature before, but I suddenly see in my mind a similar creature, growling, snapping, with a pale, humanoid, disfigured creature on its back.

_Warg_. _Orc_.

The Warg is killed almost immediately by Thorin, and I have little time to react, to feel anything; but then another Warg leaps in among us, and I cannot help the small shriek that escapes me, even as Kili shoots it down.

It lands on the ground, attempts to get back up.

I thrust my dagger into the foul creature, just as Dwalin swings his weapon down.

He glances at my dagger in the Warg, glances back up at me, a curious look on his face.

"Warg scouts," Thorin says. "Which means an Orc-pack is not far behind."

"Orc pack?" Bilbo echoes, sounding terrified, nervous; and I wonder, as I lift my dagger up, now stained with blood, why I do not feel as afraid or scared as I ought to be feeling.

"Who did you tell about your quest, beyond your kin?" Gandalf demands.

"No one."

"Who did you tell?" repeats Gandalf, eyes flashing.

"No one, I swear! What in Durin's name is going on?"

"You are being hunted," Gandalf says, and Thorin's eyes flicker over to me, and I think I see worry in his face before he turns back to look at the wizard.

"We have to get out of here," says Dwalin.

"We can't!" Ori says. "We have no ponies! They bolted!"

"I'll draw them off," Radagast offers, stepping forward.

Gandalf turns to him, exasperation on his face. "These are Gundabad Wargs; they will outrun you!"

"These," Radagast says, "are Rhosgobel rabbits." His eye twitches. "I'd like to see them try."

* * *

We are running, and running, and running, sprinting away as Radagast yells and shouts with his rabbit-drawn sled.

I do not ever remember having to run so much before in my life, yet I do not feel tired, nor exhausted in any way; my heart is racing, blood pounding, and even with the threat of the Orc pack hunting us, I cannot remember feeling so exhilarated before.

Grunts, shouts, shrieks, yells; they all blur together as we race forward together, trying to find a way out of this mess.

"Stay together," I hear Gandalf say, as Thorin shouts: "Move!"

We are running across a rocky plain, stopping every once in a while to hide behind large boulders whenever the Orc pack passes by. I am vaguely aware of Bofur next to me, Gloin behind me, as we race onwards.

"Where are you taking us?" Thorin asks Gandalf, his voice dark, as we continue running once the Orcs have passed.

Gandalf does not answer.

Suddenly we stop again; and I am aware, sharply aware, of a sniffing on top of the outcropping of rock that we are hiding behind, and low growls.

One of the Wargs must have scented us.

I see Thorin turn his head and nod at Kili; and Kili whirls out, nocks an arrow and lets it fly, and it finds its mark, spearing the Warg as it crashes to the ground with a loud howl.

The Orc – pale, humanoid, and yet so beastly, so monstrous – lets out a guttural cry, snatches up his weapon.

And then the dwarves are slashing at it, stabbing it, until it falls limp, dead.

And then there is a loud cry, a hoarse, guttural voice, and the thump of feet against the ground nearing us.

Bofur grabs my hand and then we are flying, running, over the plains, now exposed, now the prey.

"There they are!" Gloin says.

"This way!" says Gandalf. "Quickly!"

We run, and run, and run; and then suddenly we are surrounded, surrounded on all sides, and I skid to a halt, and I realise that my hand has left Bofur's and is closing around the hilt of my dagger.

"There's more coming!"

"Kili! Shoot them!"

"We're surrounded!"

And then, I suddenly realise that Gandalf is no longer with us.

"Where is Gandalf?" Kili asks.

"He has abandoned us!" Dwalin says, and I want to smack him on the head, to tell him not to be so ridiculous; Gandalf would never abandon us.

We are moving closer together now, moving into a circle, and I am suddenly aware that Thorin keeps glancing around, back at me, as if to make sure I am all right.

I feel annoyed, suddenly, slightly, that he thinks I must be defended at all times. That I cannot take care of myself.

But, I think, he must be worried, that is all; he knows all the other dwarves can fight, and fight well, but the only thing I have ever done is throw a dagger at a troll.

I glance over to where Bilbo has drawn his sword, a small thing that must have been found in the troll-hole, looking terrified and scared but determined.

"Hold your ground!" Thorin barks, and Bofur moves to stand in front of me, to encase me inside the ring of dwarves as much as possible.

And then –

"This way, you fools!"

Gandalf's voice rings loud and clear, and before I can realise what is happening, Thorin has picked me up and has pushed me down the side of a hole, where I land at the bottom, sunlight streaming in above me.

I crawl to my feet and manage to jump aside in time as Bofur slides in after me.

"Are you all right, lass?" he asks me, worriedly, as dwarf after dwarf slides in down the hole.

I nod, distractedly, peering over his shoulder, looking for a head of dark hair streaked with grey.

Thorin.

Where is he?

"Kili, run!" I hear his voice suddenly, yelling, shouting, and then both he and Kili have thrown themselves in.

Then there is the sound of a horn, long and loud and clear.

There is the sound of battle, the sound of weapons clashing, arrows flying through the air and finding their mark.

Somehow, I find myself next to Thorin, his arm around my shoulders.

I let out a small shriek as an Orc is flung before us suddenly, landing with a thump on the ground, an arrow sticking out of it.

I can see the Orc's face.

So familiar, and yet so alien.

Thorin lowers his arm, steps forward and plucks out the arrow.

"Elves," he says, his voice dark, full of loathing.

"I cannot see where the pathway leads," Dwalin calls out, from the back of the cave. "Do we follow it, or no?"

"Follow it, of course!" Bofur says, as he hurries after Dwalin, glancing around once to make sure I am all right.

"I think," Gandalf says, quietly, as the rest of the company follows, "that would be wise."

I stand silently for a moment, looking at the dead Orc lying on the ground before me.


End file.
